Beauty in the lie
by WonderousPlaceForAnEcho
Summary: Aftermath of 13's huntington's diagnosis.


Note: I honestly don't understand what struck me to write this, but I hope its decent. Be prepared, it's not too uplifting. I wrote this many months ago. There won't be a sequel because I don't think there should be one. Feel free to review.

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Positive. Positive. Positive. Positive. Positive….

One word and all I can do to disregard my uncontrollable life expectancy is crumple a sheet of paper and pretend that the diagnosis doesn't exist anymore, that the crushing and process of throwing it away means that it isn't really there.

Now there's nothing to do but turn off the light, go back to my apartment and try to shut off all the thoughts that make me want to drive out to the middle of some desolate field and scream. Just scream until I can't feel anything anymore. After that's over I know I'm going to want to break something…glass…dishes…bowls…just throw anything on the ground for the sake of hearing it shatter so I can find some sort of comfort in the sound, the sharp, absolute destruction of something, knowing that the object will be obliterated as I project my self contained, self conscious and self controlled actions. And I'll be able, even for a few minutes know that I'm still whole. There's still breathes being taken, my body isn't broken. I clench my hand into a fist and feel the strength. Its strong, certain, unwavering and I'm in control and aware but it won't always be that way.

And again I can't stop myself from thinking that the bridge I drive on from the commute to my apartment to work would be such an easy escape. I could just park my car on the side of the road, unobtrusive and disconcerting from the traffic and walk to the middle. I could hold onto the cold steel of the railing and feel the coldness seep into my body, trying to make me feel numb. I know, I know that this magical thinking needs to stop; That I shouldn't consider jumping and letting go even though it would be so easy, the escape, and perhaps even peaceful with the air moving around me as I fall.

_No, I can't do that…_

But I think…_I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay. Its my new mantra._ The beauty and distraction of the lie is worth clinging to the point that I'm exhausted even while I feel manic and want to laugh at the absurdity or saying again and again I'm okay.

There's pills…a plus side to working at a hospital. Easily accessible and stealing would be simple. I can't stop myself from smirking bitterly at those thoughts.

I don't want pills, I have no intention of letting gravity be the tool to cutting out early or using any other method really.

This epiphany is comforting, knowing that I don't want to commit suicide, not yet anyway…who knows in the future when I start to lose all control over my body and mind…

Like a switch I fall back into the self pity and concerning myself with the inevitable, I should live in the moment, carpe diem. I should ignore it, I can accept it when I start to see the symptoms, I could…

"Hey babe," Cam's gentle voice startles me but I remain seated, unmoving while I lift my head slightly towards her, giving her my attention, rather than focus on the dull, metallic table in front of me. She tilts her head to the side and looks at me softy, though questioning with her green eyes that aren't muted even though her glasses are framing them.

"Ready to head home?" She says with patience and warmth even though its clear she's tired.

Nodding my head slightly I get up, turn off the lamp and walk towards her.

"Are you alright?" She asks with sincerity and concern, sliding her hand into mine.

Not right now. I can't answer her right now; we need to go because I can't do this. All I can feel is everything and nothing. This state of flux makes me want to just leave; I need to leave this hospital. I feel like I belong her, my fate, if there is such a god damned thing, and if there is such a god, my fate is now pinpointed down to one word. Not even a whole word, an abbreviation and some perverse irony that the word is shortened. Like my newly acknowledged life span. I'm labeled and fit into a box, a fucking box that I never wanted to be in.

Instead of answering I lean in, kiss her gently and slowly. I can nearly feel something. Some sort of revival in her ghosting touches and presence as I pull back and walk with her out of the lab, avoiding her question and head home. Carpe noctem.

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Thank you to the people who reviewed. I did edit this recently so at this point if there's still issues, they're staying.


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